The silence never lasts very long any more.
I'm getting too good at knowing my moods and what needs to be done. Yes, that's a very good thing, but I do miss the peaceful retreat of a good, long, quiet tantrum. My brain knots unravel too fast these days, and then it's back to the things that need my attention. Sometimes I wish it took a little longer. Sometimes I feel like I could really use the excuse for a good rest.
I read a book yesterday, cover-to-cover, which is a rare thing for me any more. I don't usually devote that much of my day to reading, but I knew I needed this. This book has been popping up in front of me demanding to be read for many weeks now. I think the crankiness yesterday was an intentional pinch. I get like that when I've neglected something that needs my attention. I finally picked up the book as a way to distract my thoughts for just a few minutes, but then I never let it out of my sight until it was finished.
This author haunts my reading list. Many of his books are on my list, The Alchemist has been nagging at me for years to be read, but this is my first by Paulo Coelho.
I don't think anyone else reading this book would read the same story I did. In fact, unless you're reading specifically to critique, I don't think any two people would read quite the same story. (A near perfect example of how reading a book from a critical perspective kills the magik, IMO.) I heard this story in the voices of my own teachers and protectors. I saw my own lessons in these pages. The story seemed at times too contrived and obviously preachy, but when it spoke to me, it spoke loud and clear. I want to read it again, this time with a high-lighter and a bunch of bookmarks at the ready.
The book did the trick though, and my nerves were far less raw even 50 pages in.
I read the last part of this book right before bed, and between what I saw in those pages, and tiellan's speculations on my War of The World nightmares, ...well, it's no surprise what I dreamt last night.
We spent a good portion of the dream working on our house, but it was quite "The Money Pit". Finally it came time to just call it and have a house-warming party. Everyone I know and lots of people I don't came over. I was chatting with a dear friend from college (someone who represents insecurities and unfinished business in my dreams) when I looked up at the sky [I typed "start" rather than "sky". Why was I thinking "start"?]. Immediately I saw them, the craft, and instead of fighting each other, they just landed ...everywhere.
"Look! LOOK AT THEM! What are they doing???" I was panicked, but my friend was rather nonchalant.
"They're sorting us," he said. "You'll be going to Terron."
I was shocked that he would know anything about them, but also curious to have this new bit of information, and now a little less terrified. I heard a voice over a loud speaker, "Terron. Terron." "What do I do?" I asked him.
"That's your name," he told me matter of factly.
The aliens were all around us now, but they were humanoid and not particularly scary. (They're ships were perfectly alien, and I really wish I had a teenage boy's skill at drawing craft, because I dream in some pretty amazing details!) They were pushing around these ...well, pods? They looked like groupings of cryo storage tanks, each one having 16-20 doors to hold 16-20 people I guessed. People were lining up everywhere and listening to the aliens call off names, then going where they were lead.
I heard "Terron" again on the loud speakers and I didn't know what to do. On the one hand I could go along willingly and perhaps set out on the adventure of a life time. On the other hand, the pods sure looked like coffins to me, long-term storage at the best, and I might just be surrendering myself to my own death. I couldn't decide whether to go where I was called, or to run and hide like I always have.
And that's where I woke up, and that very last sentence there is the one that haunts me this morning, because now I think I know what those dreams are about and that gives me a hell of a lot to think about.
